


Scars

by Trekkiehood



Series: Scars from the Refuge [3]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Blood, Blood and Injury, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, Jack Whump, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Post-Strike, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, The Refuge, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22126651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trekkiehood/pseuds/Trekkiehood
Summary: Jack saves Les from a run-in with a drunk. He gets injured in the process. Through this, his friends learn a bit more about him and his time at the Refuge.
Relationships: David Jacobs & Jack Kelly, Les Jacobs & Jack Kelly, Racetrack Higgins & Jack Kelly
Series: Scars from the Refuge [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579366
Comments: 24
Kudos: 120





	1. Jack

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here's a multiparter for ya! I haven't decided if I want three parts or two... but there will be multiple parts (each from a different perspective).
> 
> This one has been in my head for a while, it is in the same universe as my others but post-strike. It being my first post-strike story, it's the first time I've written for Les and Davey. Neither of which I'm very good at. It's like... I combine the Movieverse and Musicalverse into one character. If it's awful, you can let me know. 
> 
> Heavy accents are meant to be that way because of selling tactics/drunkness/bloodloss.
> 
> And if this starts to sound rambly and less coherent... it's meant to be that way. I try to write in a similar way to what the character is thinking/feeling. Let me know if it works! 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy and leave lots of comments!
> 
> WARNINGS: Violence, Injury, Panic/Anxiety Attack, PTSD, Mentions of Past Child Abuse
> 
> Stay safe and enjoy!

"Oh, I'm sorry ma'am. I di'n mean ta bother ya. If'n I wasn't a poor orphan I wouldn' 'ave ta." Les finished with a deep cough. The ladies eyes grew twice there normal sizes before she took the paper and handed him a nickel. 

Jack couldn't help the small smile that appeared on his lips as the boy rushed over to show him. "Did you see that Jack! She gave me a nickel! A whole one!" His thick accent now almost completely gone. 

"Ya did good kid." He ruffled his hair. "Now, go find an'uder one, yeah?"

Les nodded excitedly before running off with another paper. 

Jack leaned against the wall, pulling his hat over his eyes, content to let the almost-ten-year-old sell their remaining pape. Things were going good, all things considering. The strike had been over for nearly a month and things had gotten back to at least semi-normal. Davey and Les were still selling and would continue to through the summer. From the looks of things, they would both be returning to school come fall. Jack tried not to think about it. 

Katherine, on the other hand, seemed determined to make the Newsies a permanent part of her life. She had brought food to the Lodging House a few times. It helped. He just hoped she stuck around until winter. The headlines had been pretty good, especially following the strike, but as winter approached, selling was hard and food was scarce. She said she would stay around. He believed her... for the most part. He knew he loved her and she seemed to love him, but that didn't always mean she would stay. She still didn't know everything about him. There were some things even the boys didn't know about him (though those closest to him probably suspected). 

"Come on, mister. It's just one pape! M'uh last one too!"

Jack followed the voice to find the boy standing slightly to close to an older man leaning against the wall, bottle in hand. Drunks sometimes were willing to pay just to get the kids to leave them alone, but you needed an eye for it. Some drunks could get violent fast. 

The older Newsie slowly made his way towards the two, not wanting to draw too much attention to himself. 

"Ge' 'way, kid." Yup. This guy was thoroughly drunk. 

"But sir! You wouldn't wish ill on a poor, sick-"

"Hey, Les, this place is slowing down, let's find a new spot."

The kid didn't catch on to the subtle hint. "But this is my last pape! And this guy is gonna buy it from me, right mister?"

"I ain't buy'n nothin'!" The man lunged at the smaller boy. Jack pushed Les out of the way, falling to the ground under the man's weight. He struggled to push the man off of him, but this man was older, bigger, and despite being drunk was putting up a pretty good fight. 

He turned his head to see Les staring at him with wide frightened eyes. The kid tended to be pretty tough, but this was scaring him. "Les, listen to me, go find Davey and- arg!" He shouldn't have looked away, a sharp pain in his side told him that. Was that a knife? No, the bottle must have broken when they fell and, well it might as well have been a knife. 

Panting for breath, Jack kicked as hard as he could, managing to get the man off of him. Les was gone, that was good. He must have gone to get Davey. He looked down to see blood coming from his side. That wasn't good.

His back was suddenly slammed against the wall. He heard a few people around him gasp. Had they been there the whole time? The man was pinning him to the wall. 

Not good. Not good. Not again. No. He was fine. He would get out of this. This wasn't Snyder. This wasn't like before.

A piece of the broken bottle was coming closer to his throat, he put up his left hand to block it, but his hand was shaking. The sharp jagged edges kept inching forward until they were pressed against his neck, he could feel it biting into his skin. He tried to kick out, but only managed to lose his grip and accidentally scrape the shard against his throat. The man pressed harder on Jack's right wrist as the Newsie's left tried to find a new angle to push the glass away. 

A loud whistle, then a crash, and the weight was off of him. A police officer stood over the drunk man, attaching handcuffs.

"Hunny, are you alright?" Jack turned at the voice. It was an older woman. He stared at her, trying to get his lungs to work. So many noises and lights and people and - 

"Son," Bulls. He spun his head to find an officer stepping towards him. He pressed himself against the wall, trying to force himself to breathe normally. "What happened?"

He couldn't- 

He wouldn't-

He needed-

He finally pushed off from against the wall and took off sprinting in the opposite direction. His side hurt and his neck stung and he was dizzy and he couldn't breathe, but he just needed to get away. 

"Jack!" His eyes focused ahead of him. 

"Davey?" He breathed, not completely believing.

"Hey, hey Jack, look at me." 

His breathing began to slow and the world around him came back into focus. 

"Jack. Answer me." Davey patted him on the cheek slightly, his eyes scanning him and coming to rest on the blood trickling down his throat.

"Answer what?"

Davey's eyes snapped back up to his face, "Are you okay?" He said it slowly. Jack realized he must be repeating himself.

"'M fine." He was, right? He would be fine. 

"You're bleeding." 

"Barely a scratch."

Davey took off his empty bag and wiped it along the cut. It wasn't deep. Jack knew it wasn't because he'd be dead already if it was.

"It doesn't seem dangerous," he smirked, "looks messy though. Gonna have trouble selling papes with all the blood on your neck. 

Jack worked to return the smile.

"Let's go back to the Lodging House and get you cleaned up." Davey led the way, Les giving a shy smile at Jack before walking side-by-side with his big brother.

Jack stood there for a moment. Everything was slightly off-kilter. He felt dizzy, but he wasn't sure why. They had just cleared up that his neck wasn't that bad... he took a step forward to follow Davey-

His side. That was it. His side. He let out a sharp gasp, struggling to keep his balance. Davey turned around and quickly steadied his friend.

"Jack, what's wrong? What happened?" 

The leader of the Newsies didn't answer, squeezing his eyes tightly. He could handle this, it would be fine. He'd had worse. 

"It's nothin'." He breathed unconvincingly. 

Davey's eyes travelled to where Jack was subconsciously clutching his side. He pulled away his friend's hands and was met with a mess of dark blood oozing from a deep cut.

"Jack!" He exclaimed, seemingly startled. 

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Les was keeping his distance, dancing around nervously.

Davey spun around, nearly knocking Jack over in the process, "Les, go find Racetrack. Tell him Jack's hurt and to meet us back and the Lodging House."

"No," Jack gasped out, feeling the full pain in his side now that the shock had worn off. "Don-don't bother Race. I'll be fine." 

All Davey did was nod and the younger boy took off. 

"Not that big a deal." The words came out slightly mumbled. "Jus' gonna worry 'im for no reason."

Davey sighed, rapping Jack's arm around his shoulder, "You're bleeding. A lot. It's why you're so dizzy."

"I've had cuts before." He ground out between harsh breaths. Even with the support, every step he took was agony. How had he not realized how bad it hurt before?

Davey didn't answer and just continued their excruciatingly slow walk back to the Loading House.

~N~

Jack didn't know how long it took to get back, but he knew it was much longer than it should have been. He's pretty sure he closed his eyes somewhere about the halfway mark. He could open them. Davey kept reminding him to every few minutes. 

"Hey," Davey jostled him slightly, causing him to hiss. "Sorry, but we're here."

He opened his eyes to see the front of the place he called home. From the other direction, he saw Race sprinting towards him. Their walk must have taken even longer than he thought, unless the gambler was already on his way back from Sheepshead when Les caught up with him. 

His second in command slipped under his other arm and helped Davey walk him up the stairs. They might have been talking. He wasn't sure. This was embarrassing. He could walk by himself. A sharp pain in his side had all three of them stopping to allow him to catch his breath. Maybe not right now.

Had that drunk broken a rib? He shouldn't be in this much pain from a little cut. 

Wait, was Race talking to him?

"Jack!"

"Huh?"

"We need to lay you down, okay? We have to use the floor because ain't nobody gonna want blood in their bed and the only table we got is for cards and not near big 'nough for ya." Race was rambling. He did that when he was nervous. 

"'M fine." 

A breathy laugh, "Sure ya are Jack."

He was laid down on his back. He knew he was on the floor, but where? Wait, when had he closed his eyes again? The bunk room? RIght, they had gone up stairs. He remembered that now.

Something was pressed against his side and he struggled to move away from it. 

"Sit still, we gotta stop the bleedin'." Race again. Davey was gone. So was Les. He vaguely remembered Davey sending him home at some point. 

"Jack!"

"Huh?" His eyes shot open.

"Yous gotta stay awake, kay?" Jack could feel Race's hands shaking as they pressed a cloth into his side. He wanted to comment but really couldn't muster up the willpower to do it. 

Davey returned with several cloths and a bowl of water. He knelt down beside Race, pulling his hand back slightly. He lifted the side of his shirt. 

"We gotta get him on his stomach. The cut is closer to his back and it's hard to reach from here." While Race's hands were his giveaway, Davey just sounded panicked. 

The two boys worked to roll him over. Jack wanted to protest but didn't. He was able to help some but just had no energy.

"We need to get his shirt off. We could cut it off, I'm pretty sure this one is ruined anyway." 

Race's hands stilled. "I, uh, ain't so sure that's a good idea."

"What do you mean? We have to-"

"No." Jack rasped out. "Don-don' like it. Jus' work 'round it."

"Jack, we can't we need it off."

"No!" They didn't understand. They didn't know. Jack had never let any of the boys see his back, his scars. Race, Race probably suspected, but Davey? He would have no idea how bad it was. He didn't need to know. No one did. His scars were his own. His paintings of the Refuge had been published for all to see, but this, this was too personal to let anyone else see. Not even Crutchie had seen...

Laying on his stomach had made it harder to breathe. He let out a cry as the pain in his side seemed to become worse. He struggled to control his breathing, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Jack, hey Jack stay with me." Now Race _sounded_ panicked. He wanted to listen, he really did, but it hurt and he couldn't breathe and the sound was slowly starting to fade and then the darkness behind his eyelids started turning completely black. His body relaxed. The pain was gone. He was fine. The sound was completely gone. Everything was completely black. He was fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, more to come!
> 
> I'm definitely writing a chapter from Race POV, but I'm debating on Davey. I guess it depends on what you guys thought of his portrayal here.
> 
> Any thoughts? Critiques? Questions? Random remarks?
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you enjoyed it <3
> 
> God bless,  
> Jamie


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's part 2! I went ahead and did a Davey part, no idea if it's any good, but here we are. 
> 
> Warning: Child Abuse/after effects of abuse talked about in this chapter. 

"Thank you, sir!" He waved at the man who just bought his last pape. Business had been going good since the strike, not that he had much experience beforehand. Jack had taken Les a couple of streets down, leaving the older Jacobs to enjoy a few minutes in the shade before jumping to the next place he had to be. His younger brother tended to be.... energetic.

David didn't hate being a Newsie. In fact, he kind of enjoyed it. Maybe not as much as Les, but he enjoyed it. The strike had given him immediate acceptance and fame throughout the boroughs. He liked hanging out with the other Newsies even if they still lacked in manners. In fact, he probably spent more time in the Lodging House than at his own house. 

It was odd though, here he was working the same job as them, yet he seemed so much better off. His father couldn't work, but he helped where he could and they had savings. His mother and sister took in laundry to help with money. He'd always considered himself poor, but now, he'd almost consider himself well off. At least in comparison to the boys. 

His father was about to go back to work. David knew that Les and he would go back to school as soon as that happened. It made him... nervous. He was entering his last year, assuming he could catch up enough to graduate. Even then, it was an opportunity that no other Newsie had. 

Les was disappointed. If he could stay a Newsie forever, he would. What his younger brother didn't understand, was the hunger and sickness that went along with being a homeless orphan living on the street. He was good at pretending to be one, Davey doubted his little brother would be very good at actually being one. 

"Davey!" The boy in question was running full speed, eyes wide and face pale. 

The older brother moved to meet him, "Les? What's wrong," a pause, "where's Jack?"

"I didn't know! Honest Davey, I didn't know! He just jumped on 'im! He pushed me out of the way and he just tackled him and then he told me to run and hen he screamed! I didn't mean to!" The boy was nearly frantic. 

Davey knelt down in front of his brother, "Les, slow down and tell me what happened. Someone tackled Jack?"

The boy nodded, "I was trying to sell my last pape. I knew the guy was drunk, but I didn't expect him to attack me!"

"Are you okay?" The older brother could feel the blood drain from his face. 

"I'm fine, Jack pushed me out of the way. And he screamed! I ain't never heard-" He sniffled.

Jack was Les's hero, to see him get hurt at all probably crushed him. "Okay, we're going to go find him. He's going to be okay." He was honestly just trying to keep himself from believing otherwise. 

Les lead him down a couple of streets before they found him. Jack was running with a look of Panic in his eyes. Davey pushed his younger brother behind him before calling out to him. 

"Jack!" 

The boy stopped dead in his tracks. "Davey?" 

He could barely hear the response. "Hey, hey Jack, look at me." His friend's eyes were wild, darting around frantically. He took a couple of steps forward and was able to see that Jack was finally beginning calming down. 

"Are you okay? Les said that you got hurt."

There was no answer. His eyes still looked far away.

"Jack, seriously, are you okay."

When there was still no answer, Davey put his hands on his friend's face, finally drawing his eyes away from wherever they were. "Jack answer me." 

"Answer what?" He still looked disoriented. Davey's eyes travelled down Jack's neck. He felt his breath hitch. Wow. Okay. That was a lot of blood. How did he not notice it before?

He finally brought his eyes away from the bloody neck. "Are you okay?" He said it slowly, not sure if Jack was really hearing him. 

"'M fine." 

"You're bleeding." A lot. And it's your throat. That typically is not fine! His slightly panicked mind was trying to keep calm.

"Barely a scratch."

Davey took the cloth bag he used to carry newspapers and wiped at the cut. It looked to have stopped bleeding, it was just smeared everywhere. "It doesn't seem dangerous," he allowed himself to breathe again, "looks messy though. Gonna have trouble selling papes with all the blood on your neck."

Jack gave a half-smile. 

"Let's go back to the Lodging House and get you cleaned up." Davey turned and started walking away, wrapping an arm around his brother. He felt a little better. Jack did seem to be okay, if a little dazed. 

There was a sharp gasp behind him. 

Davey turned to where his friend was swaying dangerously on his feet. He grabbed his shoulders, steadying him. "Jack, what's wrong? What happened?"

The only response he got was a shuddering breath accompanied by tightly closed eyes. Eventually, there was a quiet, "It's nothin'." 

Davey noticed that Jack was clutching his right side. As gently as he could, he pushed the hands away. He noticed immediately that the hands came away red. Concern already creeping in, he looked down and saw blood. A lot of blood. No, like, a lot, a lot of blood. He felt his breath hitch as he looked from the cut to his friend's pale face. "Jack!"

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Les had remained quiet up until this point, but now he was worried, anxiously hopping from foot to foot, trying to get a look at Jack's side. 

Davey let go of Jack, noticing the way that he nearly fell over without the support. "Les, go find Racetrack. Tell him Jack's hurt and to meet us back and the Lodging House."

"No, don-don't bother Race. I'll be fine." Maybe he would have listened if Jack's voice wasn't so quiet, so... weak. 

Davey nodded at his little brother, giving him a stern look. Les ran off, looking even more frightened. 

"Not that big a deal. Jus' gonna worry 'im for no reason."

Davey couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. Why did Jack have to pretend to be so strong all the time?! It was infuriating. He looks Jack's arm, wrapping it around his shoulder. "You're bleeding. A lot. It's why you're so dizzy."

"I've had cuts before." The breath hitched after taking a few steps.

Davey didn't respond. 

~N~

The walk back was slow, but relatively quiet. The only sounds were Jack's harsh breathing, an occasional grunt, and Davey reminding him to open his eyes every once in a while. It was scaring him. His friend should be able to keep his eyes open, not barely being conscious as Davey half helped, half dragged his friend home. 

When they reached the Lodging House, he nudged Jack, receiving a hiss in response. "Sorry, but we're here." David looked up and was met with a very panicked Racetrack running towards them. Without a word, the younger Newsie wrapped Jack's arm around himself and started helping him into the building. Davey kept walking, turning to his brother.

"Les, go home. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"But Jack-!"

"If you want to help, you'll go home." He snapped, not wanting to upset his brother, but not being able to deal with him hanging around right now. 

As soon as the boy was gone, Race began to question him. David answered the questions best he could until they got to the bunkroom. 

Racetrack talked a very confused Jack through what was happening. Davey didn't know why he was informing him of every little thing, but he didn't argue. These boys had known each other much longer than he had. He was sure they had their reasons. 

As soon as Jack was on the floor, Davey went to find some clean towels, after searching almost the entire house, he came across a few mostly clean rags and a bowl he filled with water.

When he finally returned to the bunk room, he found race pressing on Jack's side with the cloth bag he used for papes. The ever-present cigar was sitting beside the gambler as he whispered to his friend. Davey knelt down beside him and pulled his hands away. Race's hands were stained red and shaking. No time to worry about that now. 

Pulling at the corner of Jack's shirt, he made a decision. "We gotta get him on his stomach. The cut is closer to his back and it's hard to reach from here." He struggled to control his voice. Now wasn't the time to panic.

Race helped him push Jack over. It made Davey nervous that as soon as the older boy was on his stomach his breathing became more laboured. But this was the only way to get a good look at the cut. 

"We need to get his shirt off." he decided, "We could cut it off, I'm pretty sure this one is ruined anyway." 

The gambler looked up at him. "I, uh, ain't so sure that's a good idea."

"What do you mean? We have to-" 

"No." Jack rasped out. "Don-don' like it. Jus' work 'round it."

Davey couldn't believe it. Here Jack was bleeding out all over the floor, and he was worried about them seeing him shirtless? Why was this even an issue? "Jack, we can't we need it off."

"No!" The Newsie's voice was becoming even more ragged. He was hyperventilating. 

"Jack, hey Jack stay with me." Racetrack desperately called out to his friend. Davey joined in, but it didn't do any good. Eventually, Jack's body slumped forward. David panicked, reaching for his friend's neck. There was still a pulse, he was still breathing, he would be fine. Everything would be fine.

"Davey?!" Race looked like he was about to spiral into panic. 

"He's fine, he's fine, just... unconscious." Mabey he was starting to panic too. He looked up at Race, "We gotta get his shirt off."

The younger boy bit his lip, then sighed. "Fine, we can cut through the shirt, but try to save the vest, it's the only one he's got."

Davey nodded, being worried about a vest seemed trivial to him, but he wasn't going to argue. Together, they were able to get it off. There wasn't a tear on it and the blood was minimal. The shirt, that was a mess.

"It would probably be easiest if we were able to cut it off." 

Race nodded, pulling a small knife out of his boot. He still looked extremely uncomfortable as he held the blade above the fabric. 

"Here, I can start over here, there's already a cut in the fabric." Racetrack looked relieved to hand over the knife.

Then they heard it, footsteps. Race's eyes widened, "The boys." He stood up in a panic and raced out the door. 

By the time Race returned, the shirt was removed. He smiled at the other Newsie, feeling a moment of triumph, until he caught Racetrack's face. The boy was looking at Jack with a slightly uncomfortable, slightly angry, slightly sad look on his face. That's when Davey looked down.

Scars.

Hundreds of them. Deep cuts that had to have been made with a knife, burns ranging from small circles to wider marks, and then there were the lashes of different sizes. Some deeper than others. Some more recent than others.

"Race," He gasped.

"I know." The answer was void of all emotion as he knelt down in his previous position.

"But some of them, they're new. They can't be more than a month old."

There was a pause before Race responded in the same monotone voice. "I know." The gambler looked away, "How's his side?"

David looked down, trying to ignore the scars that wrapped around and disappeared under his friend's stomach. There was still blood seeping out, which was probably bad. The gash looked deep and... "I think," He paused trying to get a closer look, "I think there's glass in there."

"Glass?" Race raised his eyebrows.

He nodded, "Les said the guy had a bottle," He said, realization hitting him. "I bet he didn't use a knife. He just saw the broken glass and improvised. "

Race grunted in acknowledgement, his eyes flickering to Jack's back. Davey couldn't help it either. But he needed to stop. Jack had a serious injury at present, they didn't have time to think about past ones. 

"We need a doctor."

Racetrack laughed, "We ain't gettin' no doctor."

"But Race-"

"We ain't got money for a doctor!" he exclaimed angrily, "The only time we ever get a doctor is when someone has been sick for months and Jack saves enough to get one. We don' jut get one when there's an emergency. It don' work that way!"

Davey wanted to be offended, but he knew better. Race wasn't mad at him for suggesting they get a doctor, he was angry at himself for not being able to afford a doctor. 

"Then I have to get the glass out." 

At that, the anger faded, and the boy paled. "You what?" 

"I have to get the glass out. Hold him down."

The gambler shook his head, "I ain't holdin' him down."

"You have to!" Davey felt the panic rise up. He wasn't prepared for something like this! He didn't actually know what he needed to do!

"He's unconscious anyway! Why do I have ta-?"

"Just do it!" 

Both boys were surprised at the sudden volume of his voice. The outburst must have worked because Race lightly placed his hands on Jack's shoulders.

"Okay," Davey whispered to himself, "Okay, I can do this." He rinsed his hand in the bowl of water before murmuring a quick prayer. Then he pressed his fingers into the long gash reaching for one of the glass shards. 

Jack let out a scream, his back arching. "Racer!" He looked up to see the boy in question with wide eyes, his hands jerked back away from his friend. "You have to hold him down!" 

Race nodded, placing his forearms along Jack's back.

David tried again, this time succeeding in retrieving a small piece of glass. 

"D'you get it?" Race practically shouted. Jack was writhing, trying to move away. The blonde was doing his job in keeping him down, but the older Newsie seemed to go back and forth between screaming and whimpering. Davey was trying desperately to block it out. 

"I got one, there are a few more pieces," he said, trying to grab another shard. There was blood everywhere and the cut was big enough for him to fit two fingers in. This was bad. They needed to hurry, but if they left the glass in it could only cause more problems. Even then, there's no guarantee that they would get it all.

He tried to swallow the bile rising in his throat as he pulled out the last piece. "Got it!" He shouted, all but collapsing backwards. Race moved from where he was pinning Jack, though the Newsie leader seemed to have lapsed back into unconsciousness at some point. 

Only giving himself a moment to catch his breath, he pushed himself back up and used a rag to apply pressure to the now irritated cut. It would be a miracle if it didn't get infected. Race moved over next to him without saying a word and helped. They went through three rags before the bleeding finally slowed down to a less concerning trickle. 

"We need something to keep pressure on it."

Race nodded mutely, leaving for a moment and returning with a belt. 

Davey helped wrap it around Jack's body, trying not to notice how the width matched some of the scars or how some of the lash marks were much smaller. Smaller like a whip.

When the belt had tightly secured a rag in place, Race nodded to the vest. David was slightly concerned that the characteristically loudmouth gambler hadn't spoken since the impromptu surgery. 

They were able to get the vest on Jack and prop him up against a bunk. The older Newsie hadn't stirred since he passed out the second time. 

"Does he have a bed?" Davey knew that Jack normally slept on the roof, but that wasn't really an option at the moment. 

Racetrack nodded, leaning down to pick up his friend's upper half. David reached down, picking up his legs. They made their way to a bunk in the corner, right beside the window leading to the fire escape. Once Jack was settled, Race bit his lip before leaning down and buttoning the vest. 

Davey looked at the mess on the floor and headed over to clean it up. 

"Don't worry about it." Race's voice was quieter than normal, but at least he'd spoken. "Get home to Les. I know he was worried." 

David hesitated a moment but then nodded. He leaned down and picked up the shredded shirt, wiping his hands in it."I'll, uh, see if I have an extra shirt at home." He probably did. If he didn't, his dad did. "I'll be back tomorrow." 

Race nodded. Just as Davey was about to head downstairs a voice stopped him. "Use the fire escape. If you go down the boys won't ever let you leave."

"Thanks," he smiled weakly, ducking out of the window. "And... let me know if... anything happens." He felt sick at what he was implying, but Racetrack only nodded. 

David took a calming breath before finishing his escape out the window and down the fire escape. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that there are some repeated scenes and the next chapter will have some too, but this chapter wasn't originally planned and I wanted to explain some things from Race's POV at the beginning and it would be weird to not do it to all chapters. 
> 
> The next chapter will wrap this up (hopefully). 
> 
> If you have any questions let me know! 
> 
> Please comment/kudo/favourite/vote/reblog/COMMENT!
> 
> Love you guys ❤️
> 
> God bless,  
> Jamie


	3. Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final part from Race's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter! Yay!
> 
> It's also almost 4k words... so... yay!
> 
> Warnings: Severe injury, borderline panic attacks, child abuse
> 
> Thanks to snakeyboimusical on Tumblr for reading this over for me!

"A pleasure ma'am," Racetrack winked, pocketing his penny.

His last pape sold, he began the long walk back to the Lodging House. He was done early, so he might make it back in a reasonable time. Not that it mattered all too much. As much as he enjoyed the company of his boys, he also appreciated being alone for a few hours.

He was a little more than half-way home when he saw a boy running towards him. Race jogged towards him. "Les? What are you doing here?" there was no way Davey was already letting him sell by himself.

"We gotta go, now!" The boy grabbed his sleeve, pulling him forward.

Race let him, surprise keeping him from responding. After a moment, he stopped, pulling his arm away. Les turned to look at him. The boy looked terrified, his eyes were wide and his face was pale.

Racetrack pulled the young Newsie into an alley. "Les, tell me what's wrong."

"We gotta go!" He started to take off again, but Race grabbed him.

"Okay, okay, we will go, but first, you need to tell me what's going on."

The boy was breathing hard, tears leaking out of his eyes. "I-it's Jack. He-he's hurt, hurt real bad. Davey, He-he told me to get you. You've gotta help Race, Jack can't die!"

Die? This was bad. Davey sent Les by himself to Brooklyn? This was bad.

Race grabbed Les arm and took off running.

~N~

He reached the Lodging House at almost the same time as Jack and Davey. Where had they been selling? What had taken them so long to get back?

Les was a few feet behind him, Race couldn't keep hold of him and still keep his pace.

The first thing Racetrack noticed was the blood. Blood running down Jack's neck. The older Newsie was struggling to stay upright, greatly leaning on Davey. Without a word, he slipped underneath Jack's left arm as they continued entering the building. He vaguely heard Davey send Les home, but his mind was on Jack. His friend was out of it, barely conscious. The cut on his throat wasn't an accident, that was clear, but there also wasn't enough blood to cause any real damage. There had to be something else.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I think he got stabbed."

"In the neck?!"

"No, the side, the neck is superficial."

"Superficial?"

"Not deep. Just looks bad."

Race grunted in acknowledgement. Jack was swaying dangerously as they headed up the stairs.

"Stop." Racetrack ordered.

Jack paused, bending over slightly, gasping. When his friend was breathing relatively normal, they continued.

As they approached the bunk room, Race leaned over and started whispering to Jack.

"Hey, Jacky, we're gonna lay you down, kay?" There was no response as they kept walking. Jack didn't like being forced to do things. If they threw him, even gently, onto the floor and started touching him he would freak out.

"Jack!" He tried again.

"Huh?"

"We need to lay you down, okay? We have to use the floor because ain't nobody gonna want blood in their bed and the only table we got is for cards and not near big 'nough for ya." He slammed his mouth shut. This wasn't helping anything, he needed to stay calm.

"'M fine."

Race let out a humoured breath, always the hero, always fine. "Sure ya are Jack."

Davey looked over at him. "I'm going to go get some water and rags.”

"Yeah, yeah." The older boy started to leave, "Wait! Where did you say the cuts at?"

"Right side." He supplied before leaving the room.

Race grabbed his empty Newsie bag, readjusting himself on Jack's other side. There was blood soaking through the shirt, but the vest was hanging open, pushed behind Jack's back. He removed his cigar, placing it beside him, then took a shaky breath and pressed the cloth into the wound.

Jack jerked away, whimpering.

Race hated this. Hated it. "Sit still, we gotta stop the bleedin'."

Jack stopped fighting. His eyes slipped closed.

No no no no.

"Jack!"

"Huh?" Green eyes flashed open

"Yous gotta stay awake, kay?" His hands were shaking. He couldn't do this, but he had to. Jack was more than his leader, he was his friend. Quite possibly his best friend. And he was Jack's second-in-command. If something happened… He wasn't ready to lead.

Stop. He needed to stop. He needed to calm down. Everything was going to be fine.

Eventually, Davey returned with rags and a bowl of water. He leaned down beside Race and pulled up on the shirt. "We gotta get him on his stomach. The cut is closer to his back and it's hard to reach from here."

Race helped, but felt unnerved that Jack's breathing had become even more ragged,

"We need to get his shirt off. We could cut it off, I'm pretty sure this one is ruined anyway."

"I, uh, ain't so sure that's a good idea." Jack never took his shirt off. It didn't matter if it was the hottest day of the summer, he was always at least wearing an undershirt. He was never seen without his back fully covered. Race had his suspicions, but not even he ever tried to push the issue.

"What do you mean? We have to-"

"No. Don-don' like it. Jus' work 'round it." Jack said in a dangerous sounding gasp.

Davey sounded exasperated. "Jack, we can't we need it off."

"No!" The leader of Newsies called out before he began to wheeze. He wasn't getting air in.

No no no no no no no no.

"Jack, hey Jack stay with me." Race lightly touched his friends face.

The only answer was for the body to slump forward, the fight completely gone.

"Davey?!" No. This wasn't happening. No.

"He's fine, he's fine, just... unconscious." Davey sounded like he was starting to panic too.

Race bit his lip, "Fine, we can cut through the shirt, but try to save the vest, it's the only one he's got."

He didn't know why but the idea of saving the vest made him feel a little better.

"It would probably be easiest if we were able to cut it off."

Race nodded. He reached into his boot and pulled out the small knife he always kept there. He held it over the fabric, he knew he needed to this. It would help Jack. It just felt like he was crossing this invisible line and that once he crossed it, there was no turning back.

"Here, I can start over here, there's already a cut in the fabric." Davey's voice made Race almost close his eyes in relief as he handed over the knife.

Just as the first slit in the shirt was made, Race heard footsteps."The boys." He stood up in a panic. The couldn't come up. They couldn't see.

He ran out of the room, meeting a few of the boys on the steps. They stopped, staring at him with wide eyes, "Go downstairs. Now."

They obeyed as Race followed them. There were several boys downstairs, most of them looking like they just got back. They all turned to look at him. He stayed on the steps, fidgeting with his hands.

"Listen, we're havin' a bit of a problem. Upstairs. Everythin' will be fine." He hoped, "Jus' stay down here until I come and get you."

"What happened?" Specs asked, his eyes scanning Race.

How much should he tell them? "Uh, someone got hurt. Me 'n Davey are takin' care of everything. Don' worry about it."

"Where's Jack?" Crutchie's voice was quiet, like he knew he shouldn't be asking. But it had been asked and now he had to answer.

Race paused, looking down. His hands were covered in blood, most of him was covered in blood, no wonder they were all looking at him so weird. He was probably scaring them even as he tried to reassure them. "Jack, uh, he's the one who got hurt." There were whispers among the older boys, while the younger ones just stared at him. Jack never got hurt and if he did, there was never a fuss about it. "But he'll be fine. Okay? Jus' stay down here." He made eye contact with Specs who nodded, moving to sit on the bottom stairs.

Race turned and ran up the stairs.

He couldn't do this. Too much stress. How did Jack do this? How did he lead and care for them? He had had one conversation with them and was already freaking out.

Race entered the bunk room. Davey pulled the final piece of fabric and looked up in triumph.

But all Race could see was Jack's back. It was awful. Even worse than he imagined. There were so many scars. Too many. Race felt such unbending anger as he looked at the lash marks. The burn scars. Knife cuts?

And some of them were recent.

"Race," He almost felt bad for Davey. The boy obviously had no inclination beforehand. He came from a different world. Race had gotten the belt a few times when he was a kid, before he became a Newsie, but even he had to admit, these were bad. He kneeled beside his friend, his brother, a hand nervously reaching out and brushing the skin.

"I know." He couldn't process his emotions. The best thing to do right now was to shut them off.

"But some of them, they're new. They can't be more than a month old."

Pulitzer. It had to be."I know." He couldn't look anymore. "How's his side?"

There was a pause before David answered, "I think, I think there's glass in there."

"Glass?" How-?

"Les said the guy had a bottle, I bet he didn't use a knife. He just saw the broken glass and improvised. "

Race let out a noise of acknowledgement before looking at Jack's back. It was almost mesmerizing. It was so awful and... final. He had assumed for years, but to actually see it...

"We need a doctor." Davey's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

Racetrack found himself laughing, resentment bubbling inside him. "We ain't gettin' no doctor."

"But Race-"

"We ain't got money for a doctor! The only time we ever get a doctor is when someone has been sick for months and Jack saves enough to get one. We don' jut get one when there's an emergency. It don' work that way!" Jack was the only one who ever got a doctor. And Jack typically worked himself nearly to death to get one. Race wasn't prepared for something like this. If Jack had money hidden away, he wasn't sure exactly where. Maybe if he wasn't a stupid gambler and learned how to save some money instead of betting it on cheap horse races they'd be able to get one!

"Then I have to get the glass out."

"You what?" No. That wouldn't work. That couldn't work.

"I have to get the glass out. Hold him down."

"I ain't holdin' him down." Jack hated to be trapped. Hated it. The idea of holding him down... of putting him in a position he knew that Jack was terrified of... he couldn't do it!

"You have to!" He could hear the anger rising in Davey’s voice.

"He's unconscious anyway! Why do I have ta-?"

"Just do it!" The sound exploded in the large room. Race couldn't help but wonder if the boys downstairs heard it. He still didn't want to, but guessed he really didn't have much of a choice. He gently placed his hands on Jack's shoulder, not putting any real pressure on him.

Race kept his attention on Jack as Davey prepared himself. Then seemingly out of nowhere, Jack screamed. Race jerked his hands away, feeling the panic rise.

"Racer! you have to hold him down!"

Okay, okay he could do this. He pressed his arms along Jack's back, putting his full weight on him and preventing him from arching away. It lasted forever. Jack kept screaming and jerking away. It took all of Race's strength to hold him down. He'd seen the aftermath of Jack being hurt, but to activly be part of it was torture in itself.

Eventually, Jack passed out. He was still breathing, so he was only unconscious. Racer didn't remove the pressure for fear that he would wake back up.

"Got it!" David cried out victoriously, collapsing backwards. Race moved over beside him to help stop the bleeding. The cut was now red and puffy. It probably needed stitches. There was nothing they could do about that right now.

"We need something to keep pressure on it." Davey turned to him once the bleeding had relatively stopped.

Race couldn't bring himself to speak. All of it was too surreal. He nodded, going to grab a belt, whose belt exactly he wasn't sure, but if they weren't wearing it now they wouldn't miss it.

The belt worked to hold the rag in place. It also outlined the many marks on Jack's back. There were just as many small ones as big ones. Some had definitely been done by a belt and some by other straps of some kind. Race thought he recognized the lashes of a horse whip.

He couldn't stand to look at it anymore. He grabbed the vest, still in reasonable condition by some miracle, and he and Davey put it on Jack. They then propped him up against one of the bunks.

"Does he have a bed?"

Jack had a bed, but it was rarely occupied by him. It was typically given to one of the boys who hadn't made enough to stay the night. Together, they moved the Newsies leader to the bunk closest to the window. Before he officially moved into his ‘Penhouse’ Jack had chosen this particular bed because he could easily sneak out onto the fire escape.

Race just stared at him for a long time, chewing on his lip. He finally leaned down and buttoned the vest, better hiding the scars that wrapped around his torso.

Davey headed over to the mess covering the floor.

"Don't worry about it." He hated how quiet his voice was, but he was so tired. "Get home to Les. I know he was worried."

David picked up the now shredded shirt. "I'll, uh, see if I have an extra shirt at home. I'll be back tomorrow."

Race nodded as Davey turned to head down the stairs. "Use the fire escape. If you go down the boys won't ever let you leave."

"Thanks," he smiled weakly, ducking out of the window. "And... let me know if... anything happens."

Race knew what he meant, what he was insinuating. The terrifying part was that it was a valid request. Jack's side was already getting infected. The infection could spread and give him a dangerous fever. He could bleed out during the night. It wouldn't be the first time a fever had stolen a member of the Lodging House.

His only answer was a nod.

Davey disappeared through the window. Race sighed, leaning up against one of the bunks. Taking a shuddering breath he moved over to the bloodstained floor.

Using the few rags he had left, he mopped up the blood. When the floor was as clean as he would be able to get it, he took the bloody cloth and threw it in one of the side closets that held cleaning equipment no one ever used. He used the red-tinted water to rinse his hands off before dumping it down the sink in the washroom.

He picked up his cigar, entertaining the idea of lighting it. No, that would just cause even more problems. Sticking it between his teeth, he headed downstairs. All eyes turned to him as the room went deathly silent.

"He's asleep. You can go up if you plan on going to bed, but not if you're going to be loud." He didn't know what else to say. He just stood there, trying to avoid the many eyes on him.

Crutchie pushed past him, moving at a rapid pace up the stairs. Race closed his eyes, holding the railing a little tighter, taking a shuddering breath. Finally, he followed his friend up, a few of the older Newsies behind him.

He wasn't surprised to see Crutchie sitting on the side of the bed, talking to the unconscious Jack. The other boys moved around quietly, some grabbing cards from under mattresses or books from hidden holes in the wall to take downstairs. Race stood motionless in the middle of the room. It was like he had frozen in place. He couldn't think. He felt numb.

Someone touched his arm and he flinched backwards. Specs gave him an apologetic look before handing over a shirt. Race looked down at himself. His own shirt was stained red. He was covered in blood. He bet he scared the littles even more this time after listening to all of the screams.

With a shaky hand he accepted the shirt.

No one said anything as they slipped back into the common floor. Crutchie continued his vigil beside his friend. Race sighed and put his head in his hands. The silence was almost more overhwelming than the screaming.

~N~

It was just a small intake of breath. It typically wouldn't have even awakened him. The heavy breathing continued until there was a shift in the bed.

Jack was awake. Race wasn't sure if he should be relieved or concerned. Crutchie was asleep on the bed opposite of Jack. Race had taken the bunk above Jack, it wasn't his normal bed, but nobody argued with him.

Everybody else was asleep. Should he check on Jack or just leave him alone? Had he started bleeding again? Did he have a fever?

He moved to get up, but before he could, there was a light grunt and Jack was pushing himself off of the bed.

"Jack! What are you doing?" Race said in a harsh whisper.

The older boy didn't answer as he stumbled towards the window.

Racer climbed down from the bed as quietly as he could and grabbed Jack's arm. Jack jerked back, breathing heavy, eyes wide. He nearly fell over in his attempt to get away.

"Hey, Jack, it's me. It's Race." He was still whispering, hoping that he wouldn't wake everyone else up.

"Race?" Jack's eyes started to clear. "I have to get out."

"No Jacky, you gotta get back to bed." He started to lead him towards the abandoned bunk.

"Please Race, I-I can't-" His voice went ragged for a moment, "I need to get out."

Racetrack noticed the look in his friend's eyes. It was a slowly rising panic. It was the reason Jack had taken to sleeping outside when the weather was good enough, sometimes even when it wasn't.

"Okay, but you gotta let me help you."

Jack nodded as Race helped him walk, more like sway, over to the window. Getting through it was the hard part, but they managed to get him outside on the fire escape.

Once outside, Jack leaned against the railing, breathing heavily. Race let him, leaning against the wall.

After a long stint of silence, a raspy voice whispered, "What happened to my shirt?"

Race froze. It was the one thing Jack had asked them not to do. "We, uh, we had to cut it off. We had to Jack, we needed ta look at the cut and it was near impossible with it on."

"Okay." There was such exhaustion in that one word. Jack sounded so incredibly tired and defeated.

"I di'n want to, honest."

Jack nodded, then went quiet, leaning his head on the rail. A long moment passed before he stood up straighter, and not looking back said. "Go ahead."

Race wasn't exactly sure what he meant by that.

"Ask. I know you have questions. If you're going to ask, ask now."

Oh. "You don't have'ta tell me if you don'-"

"If you don't ask now, yous just gonna ask later when I don't want to answer." It was said almost angrily, but the weakness made it so that there was barely any heat behind the words.

Race bit his lip, he must have left his cigar inside. "They from Snyda'?"

"Mostly. Some from the guards. A few from my old man when he got drunk. But, yeah, most of 'em." There was no emotion in the voice. Almost as if he was talking about someone else's scars and not his own.

"What, about-" He paused not really wanting to know the answer.

Jack sighed, "Go ahead Racer, just ask."

"The new ones. How'd you get the new ones?"

"New ones? I don-" He stopped. Freezing in place, his breath hitching slightly. "Oh, they're from Snyder."

Snyder? He had been sure it was Pulitzer... "How? They ain't from last time you was in the Refuge, it's been too long for them to still look like that."

Jack gripped the railing harder. "No, theys from the Rally. Right before it. Pulitzer sent Snyda' to beat some common sense inta me.” He let out a breathy laugh. “Thought it would help convince me. Followed me ta the Rally too. Was there the whole time. Woulda arrested everyone if I di'n say what he wanted me to."

Race stood dumbstruck. He hadn't heard that part of the story. Everyone knew about Jack's sudden change of heart after the rally. They all assumed that Katherine had talked sense into him. According to this new information, he had never wanted to speak against the Rally. The money didn't factor into Jack's decision at all.

"Jack-"

"I know, okay, I know I shouldn'a done it. It was stupid. I was weak. I just couldn't let Snyder take everyone. I couldn't let him take me." He sighed. "It don't matter. It's over now."

"Hey, you're many things Jacky, but weak ain't one of them. You was hurt. You shoulda told someone."

"I did." He sounded almost indignant. "I ain't completely stupid Racer."

"And who would that be." He crossed his arms. If he, Crutchie, or David didn't know, who would Jack possibly tell?

"I don' see how it matters, but if you 'avta know, Spot." He sighed, "Can we just drop this whole thing? I answered your questions. I ain't answerin' no more."

Race nodded, still in shock. He almost felt hurt that Jack would take his problems to the Brooklyn leader before his own friends.

"We should probably go back in. If the boys wake up and you ain't there they'll be worried."

"Yeah, yous probably right." He pushed himself off the railing, letting out a hiss as he straightened.

Race could feel the heat coming from Jack's skin as he helped him back through the window. He hoped that it was just stress and not infection, but he knew better than to hope. Maybe he should start saving up for a doctor, just in case.

He helped Jack into bed then climbed into his own.

He felt guilty. He should have known. All of it. How had no one noticed that Jack was hurting during the rally? He'd disappeared for hours then betrayed them, they should have wondered why instead of just branding him a traitor.

And even after the strike, he had left with Spot and not returned, only to be found asleep in the Lodging House. They knew he was tired, but he had been hurt. Their leader, friend, brother had been hurt and nobody had noticed.

Racetrack sighed, closing his eyes. If any of the other boys had been hurt, Jack would have noticed immediately and yet not one person noticed when Jack was hurting. That was going to have to change.

With this thought, the stress of the day finally caught up with him and he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you are my friends!
> 
> And just FYI, I plan on writing a story focusing around the Spot and Jack storyline introduced in this story. Keep an eye out if you are interested. 
> 
> Anyway, please let me know what you think! Comments are my lifeline!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr!
> 
> God bless,  
> Jamie Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you enjoyed it <3
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr @Trekkiehood
> 
> God bless,  
> Jamie


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